


Just This About Us

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 02:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7082416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to pin down exactly what Roadhog feels for his employer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just This About Us

Talking is easier, sharp gestures and a sharper tongues making this something dirty, hot and mean, instead of the slow glance over for hurts that it might be. They’re neither one of them happy with the day’s events, and it’s just easier to go with that natural quarrelsome side of their personalities. Doing any more than that, it’s dangerous.

It’s easier for ‘Rat. He’s so consumed by sensation and sentiment; angry even as he lets himself be shoved back against the wall, irritated as he trails his hands, hot and sore and aching, across Roadhog’s shoulders. He’s feeling for damage, yeah, sure, but mostly he’s just feeling the bigger man up, rough palms rubbing over muscle and fat-swollen flesh.

He likes it, likes it just the way it is, and so he keeps wriggling under Roadhog’s hands, looking to find comfort where the older man is still trying to cling to some pretense of this being clinical.

“Wouldn’t have this if you watched yer damn self,” ‘Hog grunts, sticking a finger into the wicked open wound left by the graze of a bullet. He’s galled by the blatant glide of his partner’s fingers under his vest, right over one nipple, so he has to bite his temper back just far enough that he doesn’t lash out and smack the smaller man.

Singed fingers dig into his skin, prodding hard into a swollen lump of bruised flesh, a mark left from the swung butt of a now dead bank guard’s baton. He doesn’t have to look to know Junkrat is grinning, sharp teeth on display. “Yeah, mate, and I bet _you_ wouldn’t have this if ya spent less time watching me and more time watching your own ass!”

Mouth twisting into a snarl, hidden by his mask but perfectly clear in his body language, the larger junker shoves him roughly into the wall. Both of ‘Rat’s wrists fit easily in one of Roadhog’s hands, and as always, he knows exactly how hard he can push, teasing the line between pain and pleasure as he puts stress on the younger man’s arms. “Watching you is my _job_ ,” he rumbles, curling over the other and pressing their foreheads together. “The least you could do is _listen_ to me.”

He’s going to say something, something smart and quipping, and then ‘Hog really will lose it.

Dangerous, it’s dangerous to get like this. But there’s something just _right_ about the needy little growl that leaves ‘Rat instead of whatever idiot thing he was about to say before Roadhog began to roughly knead at the younger man’s crotch. It’s a rough and ineloquent but so so good, pinning him down and listening to him whine as ‘Hog digs in close. It should hurt, he thinks, but something in him thrills at the way Jamie struggles just enough to be a nuisance, succumbing with just enough resistance to keep Roadhog growling.

“Oughta rip off your good arm,” he says, rumbling voice muffled by his mask. “Rip you limb from limb and dump you somewhere only I can get to you.”

Junkrat grinned up at the larger man, clearly enjoying the way the other’s massive belly crushed him into the wall at this proximity. “You like me too much for that. Like chasin’ me down, standin’ guard over me. Keepin’ all the bad off me.”

What can you say to that kind of perilous truth? You can lie and deny it away, or you can step up to the plate and admit it. ‘Hog decides on the middle ground, giving only a low grunt and maneuvering that free hand, not so free now, into Jamie’s trousers. It’s actually harder than it needs to be, because ‘Rat’s twisting and writhing in a way that flirts between needy and obnoxious.

Sinking to his knees, still holding the other man up, he can’t seem to help but notice the way the spring on Junkrat’s prosthetic bounces out the aftershock. Always those weird little details you pick up in moments like these. 

When he finally lets Junkrat loose, the wiry wretch doesn’t make any move except to free himself better than Roadhog’s rough manhandling had managed. He leans back against the wall, quiet for a moment as his good leg actually shakes in anticipation. He loves the attention, Roadhog knows it, loves how he has _all_ of the larger man’s attention right then and there, mask unbuckled and carefully pulled up before Roadhog leans in and gobbles him up.

“Like a, haha, like a damn pig at feed,” the smaller man breathes, lifting a trembling hand to gently run over ‘Hog’s hair. He’s got a damn fixation on that hair, softer than his own but still bristled, not unlike the fur of a real hog. How the older guy manages to scowl at him with his mouth full of cock, Junkrat has no idea, but manage it he does, a neat little magic trick. “You hungry, big boy?”

Roadhog pulls back with a satisfyingly obscene smacking sound, made more satisfying by the way ‘Rat whines like he’s been denied some great treat. “I could break you in half, you little shit,” he growls, swallowing any tenderness that might have crept up on him. They can’t get tender with each other, no matter how easy it would be.

“Do it,” ‘Rat challenges, his eyes sparked with mischief, laughing as his partner rolls his eyes and ducks back in. For a moment that shuts him up; it's good because he’s never been more tempted to just fuck the little twitch than he is today; no slow build-up with touches and easy lead-ins but simply laying the little man out and having him, rough and explosive as one of those genius traps ‘Rat throws together.

Then he’s chanting, biting his lips and growling, shivering as Roadhog gets more into the act; “Oh, do it do it do it, break me man, just fuckin’ – do it do it, break me, I can take it, I don’t wanna, I’m gonna, I don’t wanna come alone, fuckin’ do it, do it do it do it do –!”

His eyes widen in pleasure and he utters a series of stuttering little choking sounds, perfect little bitch noises that ‘Hog could easily tease him about as he shoots his load right down Roadhog’s throat. The big guy takes it like a champ; no nice girl he, he just sits back, turns his head, hawks back and spits.

“Aw man,” ‘Rat wheezes, shivering and almost – no, truly, he’s _pouting_. “I wantcha t’ fuck–”

The yelp that he lets out turns into a crow of triumph and pleasure when Roadhog grabs him by his good ankle, jerking him down onto the floor and yanking his cut-offs down they tangle for a moment on his boot, but ‘Hog gives them another firm, impatient tug, and bye-bye, they’re gone, tossed across the dingy little room and forgotten.

Lifting Junkrat, spreading his legs to run his tongue between the cheeks of his ass, its easy. He’s aggressive and uncompromising, leaving the smaller man to whine and writhe as he will, back bent in a way that’s almost graceful for all that his arms tremble with the effort of supporting himself while Roadhog tosses his salad. He’s left with no control, and that’s how Roadhog likes it. Junkrat, after all, is rarely so easily managed.

“You’re all talk, ain’tcha,” he jibes, straining up and forward, grinding weakly back against his partner’s mouth, words made weak by the need to focus on his breathing, to keep from whining every time ‘Hog’s attention strays from his hole. “So quick ta… ta say shit, but you never _do it_ , all bark nnngh, an’ no bite. Maybe y’ think I’ll shut up if you, if you scare me, but – ooh! – but I know you ain’t gonna do it, just gonna talk ‘n talk ‘n _talk_ ‘n never… never…”

Trailing off, his eyes roll in their sockets as the other bites at his inner thigh, leaving hot, wet marks that’ll bruise as deeply as anything he got in battle. He loves those marks, too, Roadhog knows, and they seem to stop his train of thought, muting the younger man for a little while.

They both laugh when ‘Rat falls flat on his back, losing his balance when he tries to use one arm to stroke himself. Just like that, the tone in the room is lightened; the anger that was rubbing them both raw is dissipating; they’re something close to friends again. Sharp and rough with each other, sure, but familiar, caring somehow.

“I really wantcha to fuck me, mate,” Junkrat admits, sitting on his ass with his legs splayed, erection pointing almost accusingly out at his partner. Roadhog utters an amused little grunt that makes the smaller man grin, all teeth and glinting eyes.

“Get th’ lube then.”

Another cry of delight as the smaller man scrambles away, blood splattering across the floor from that bullets graze as he moves. He fishes in his pockets, and Roadhog just watches, amused and a little concerned by the way his heart twists with fondness for the other. Junkrat is supposed to be his boss, and he’s come into the role of protector a lot more intensely than his payment should warrant.

He doesn’t want to care so much about the little man, who shouts with glee when he finds a battered old tube of personal lubricant stashed in amongst gears and gadgets.

But he doesn’t want to hurt him, either, doesn’t want to let _anything_ hurt him. It’s a side of himself he thought he’d buried with his old name… but sometimes being around Jamison makes the old bones of Mako Rutledge stir from their dusty grave.

Oh, yes, and it’s dangerous, dangerous when Junkrat lays himself out for Roadhog, all shivering compliance and eagerness as the larger man gets them both ready. It’s dangerous because if he’s ever going to say something stupid, it’ll be a moment like this; when Junkrat is quiet and hungry and pleading with him, begging for more and promising with the way he digs his fingers in and clings, promising that he’s _‘Hog’s_ , ‘Hog’s and no one else’s.

It’s always a tight fit, but they both seem to like it, Jamie babbling praises while Roadhog swallows his tongue and bites back any commentary he himself might make. Someone has to keep the boundaries intact here, after all.

When he flips them over, so he’s the one on his back, Junkrat laughs and calls him a lazy ass; he only grunts, much more interested in the way the slighter man shifts in place, figuring the position out before starting to bounce, enthusiastic and delighted despite the insult.

“That doin’ it for ya,” ‘Rat breathes, panting as he rides the larger man. “Poor old man, better let me do the work, right?” He’s laughing between his moans and nothing about it is cruel and Roadhog can’t help smiling along, his expression milder than his partner’s but no less there. “God I love it when ya give it to me, I love it, yeah I do, _God_ that’s good.”

Love, he thinks as he holds tight to the smaller man, is a poetic fantasy of an idyllic emotional state that simply cannot happen. There is no such thing as a soldier in love because to love another is to weaken one’s self. There is only the partnership, camaraderie, the strength of numbers and the advantage of having another to watch your back.

Gripping close to one another, all the rage and anger that preceded the act seem to finally wash away as they flood with each other’s energy, and that at least was good. They orgasm together, a happy accident neither mistakes for having any deeper meaning; they come locked together, and when it’s over, Roadhog let’s Junkrat remain sagged against him, sweaty and out of breath.

And in the end it’s not about control or even working out the day’s tension. It’s almost about the way the ghost of his former self stirs in Jamie’s presence, how it reaches out for another warm body to call friend, to call lover. It’s less about the orgasm than that strange comfort that comes in finding the way to that pleasure with a partner happy to be along for the ride.

“C’mon, boss,” he says at long last, feeling a hot wetness that’s definitely blood under one hand. “Let’s get that graze closed.”


End file.
